When I met him, I had a lot of anger inside of me. I’ve lived my whole life in Spanish Harlem, but in my neighborhood, there are shoot-ups all the time. I know kids who have been shot or beaten up. I have friends who ended up in prison. I could have ended up that way, too, but Mr. Clark wouldn’t let that happen.

Mr. Clark worked long hours, making sure I did my work. My grades rose. In fact, the scores of our whole class rose. One day, he took our class to see The Phantom of the Opera, and it was the first time some kids had ever been out of Harlem. Before the show, he treated us to dinner at a restaurant and taught us not to talk with our mouths full. We did not want to let him down.

Mr. Clark was selected as Disney’s 2000 Teacher of the Year. He said he would draw three names out of a hat; those students would go with him to Los Angeles to get the award. But when the time came to draw names, Mr. Clark said, “You’re all going.”

On graduation day, there were a lot of tears. We didn’t want his class to end. In 2001, he moved to Atlanta, but he always kept in touch. He started giving lectures about education, and wrote a bestselling book based on his classroom rules, The Essential 55. In 2003, Mr. Clark took some of us on a trip to South Africa to deliver school supplies and visit orphanages (孤儿院). It was the most amazing experience of my life. It’s now my dream to one day start a group of women’s clubs, helping people from all backgrounds.

Smiles Are Always Preferable over Pity

An artist from Washington is bringing smiles to babies and their parents, one helmet at a time.

Flat head syndrome is a common condition in infants and affects about half of babies in their first year of life. Fortunately, it doesn’t cause significant medical consequence and is treatable with a specialized helmet that an infant will wear for weeks or months. But these helmets usually come in a dull white.

More than a decade ago, artist Paula Strawn was approached by a friend whose granddaughter was prescribed one of the helmets and asked if she could make it a bit more fun.

“I had never seen a baby with a helmet before and they quickly explained what it was for,” Strawn says. “I was a little frightened as I hadn’t painted on anything like this before. But it went and they were very happy.”

Strawn was living in Southern California at the time. After painting the helmet for her friend, she quickly began to get inquiries from other parents who wanted to stylize the helmets for their babies.

Soon, requests snowballed in from across the state, then from around the country.

“Within the year it was my main painting work for folks all over Southern California and within a couple of years I started hearing from folks around the states,” she recalls. “The last few years it’s been my full-time business. I get helmets from all over the country.”

Strawn, who now lives in Washington, says she has painted more than 3,200 helmets in the 15 years since she painted her first one.

She frequently posts her paintings to her Instagram page, which features helmets designed with bright flowers, cartoon characters, sports team logos and other colorful pictures.

“It’s a fun, friendly and personal design that brings smiles to baby and a chance for parents to have a conversation about the helmet instead of pity,” Strawn says. “Smiles are always preferable over pity!”

I never saw my father home from work late or ill, nor did I ever see my father take a “night out with the boys”. He had no hobbies but just took care of his family.

For 22 years, since I left home for college, my father called me every Sunday at 9:00 am. He was always interested in my life----how my family was doing. The calls even came when he and my mother were in Australia, England or Florida.

Nine years ago when I bought me first house, my father, 67 years old, spent eight hours a day for three days, painting my house. He would not allow me to pay someone to have it done. All he asked was a glass of iced tea, and that I hold a paintbrush for him and talk to him. But I was too busy, for I had a law practice to run, and I could not take the time to hold the paintbrush, or talk to my father.

Five years ago, my 71-year-old father spent five hours putting together a swing set (秋千) for my daughter. Again, all he asked was that I get him a glass of iced tea, and talk to him. But again, I had laundry to do, and the house to clean.

The morning on Sunday, January 16, 1995, my father telephoned me as usual, this time he had seemed to have forgotten some things we had discussed the week before. I had to get to church, and I cut the conversation short.

The call came at 4:40 am. That day my father was sent to hospital in Florida. I got on a plane immediately, and I vowed (发誓) that when I arrived, I would make up for the lost time, and have a nice long talk with him and really get to know him.

I arrived in Florida at 1:00 am, but my father had passed away at 9:12 pm. This time it was he who did not have time to talk, or time to wait for me.

In the years since his death I have learnt much about my father, and even more about every single day.